


like before

by Manzanas



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manzanas/pseuds/Manzanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the roof of a hotel, Pete and Patrick answer the right question at the wrong time. </p><p>Or, things should be better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like before

**Author's Note:**

> this is inspired slightly by the kids aren't alright, and an interview where patrick mentions being depressed during the ioh era
> 
> also, shoutout to my beta [Sofia](http://hesitantalicn.tumblr.com/) for being better than i deserve and catching my mistakes lol

Pete finds Patrick on the roof of the hotel, sitting on the edge and feet dangling off the side of the building, staring at the Chicago skyline.

The sun's almost set, and all Pete has is a silhouette, but it's familiar like the palm of his hand or neck of his bass.

But there's something in the curve of Patrick's back, the way his hands brace against the ledge, that makes Pete think maybe he should leave. That maybe this isn't something Pete can pull the singer out of.

Still, Pete's had nights like this. Nights when he'd become a little too obsessed with his own sadness, when the only thing that could take the edge off wanting to jump was seeing the fall.

So instead he walks forward, silent like he never is, until he's standing next to Patrick. He stops short of actually sitting with the other man, and fixes his gaze to city, eyes drifting out of focus as he attempts to match Patrick's concentration, the deliberate way he sees the city.

Pete loves Chicago, but it'll always belong to Patrick

Eventually, the other man sighs, turning (away from Pete) around until his back is to the city, but not moving from his perch. For a long while, he only stares at his hands, and Pete watches as they clench in the fabric of his jeans, the only sign of an internal struggle.

"Pete," Patrick eventually says, melancholy in a way that Pete hasn't heard in years. Not since before the hiatus. There's a familiar slump to his shoulders, defeat lining his body in a way Pete had never wanted to see again.

Things are _good_ between them. Between the band. Things are different than before; they fit together in a different way, but Pete still remembers when sadness used to fill Patrick's being, take him over and drown him like the ocean, and all he can think is _things are supposed to be better_.

Still, Pete doesn't respond, instead moving to stand in front of Patrick. He hesitates to touch, doesn't know exactly what Patrick needs right now. This is an old battle, and Pete can’t count how many times he’s lost. His hands end up limp at his sides, and he hates how inadequate he feels.

They’re less than a foot away from one another, and Pete meets Patrick's eyes, searches them like maybe they'll spill all the singer's biggest secrets.

Pete knows Patrick maybe better than anyone; he’s spent years learning the different curves and edges that shape him, but he has no answer for jigsaw puzzle of nostalgia and bitterness and resignation staring back at him. But Pete recognizes the set of Patrick's jaw, reserved for when he's made a difficult decision; he notices the nervous scrunch of the singer's nose, saved only for when he's anxious.

He doesn't know what's plaguing Patrick, but Pete wants to be reassuring. _Wants_ to be part of the solution, for once, instead of just another problem that drives Patrick to a ledge. He puts a hand on Patrick's shoulder, friendly and familiar.

It breaks the complicated jumble of emotions in Patrick’s expression, but the defeat behind them makes it clear it wasn't a victory.

"Just," Patrick murmurs, somewhere below a whisper and Pete hates it when Patrick gets quiet. Hates the way his voice loses all the strength Pete's come to associate with it, come to _need_ from it. "Just let me."

He doesn't finish, but Pete watches out of the corner of his eye as Patrick reaches up, hand coming to rest against his cheek, soft and careful like Patrick always is.

Pete's shared beds with Patrick, spent nights where he'd spill all his most disgusting secrets to the other man and receive nothing but comfort in return.

He's screamed at Patrick while holding a bottle of pills, honest when he said there wasn't anything worth sticking around for.

He's cried in Patrick's shoulder, feeling desolate and worthless, their first contact in months because Patrick knew Pete wouldn't want to be alone.

He's laid himself bare for Patrick, but Patrick's hand cupping his cheek, his sad, sad eyes never leaving Pete's. This is the most intimate experience of Pete's life.

He swallows, thick and uncomfortable, doesn't know if Patrick wants an answer to a request he never finished. Pete doesn't think he'd be capable of saying no. The brokenness of Patrick's expression, the helpless set of his features; whatever Patrick needs, Pete doesn't _want_ to say no.

Patrick smiles, faint and half-real and the saddest of all, before leaning closer, eyes slipping shut, and Pete understands just before Patrick's lips meet his.

It's chaste in a way that Pete hasn't experienced since high school, but Pete can feel the genuine sorrow in Patrick's lips. The regret in the shape of his mouth.

It's an answer to the biggest _what if_ of their relationship, and Pete hates how much he needed it. It was the cut on the roof of his mouth and the itch at the back his mind. But Pete doesn't know how equate gone with healed because somehow this is worse than before.

Patrick pulls away, and it's over before Pete can make it something more. _More_ passionate. _More_ hopeless. More than just a half answer to a decade old question that everyone else forget.

Patrick sighs, looks away and removes his hand. Pete's cheek is cold in its absence.

When Pete finds his voice, it's hoarse and incapable of anything above a whisper. He says the one thing he hates most that they both already know.

"We can't."

Patrick smiles, the same curve as before.

"I know, Pete."

He gives Pete one last look, something final as he pushes off the ledge and back onto the roof.

They're standing closer, but Pete knows it means nothing. Patrick clasps him on the shoulder, friendly and familiar, and then he walks towards the door, not looking back.

Something terrible wells up in Pete's chest as Patrick leaves, something awful that makes him want to choke.

He wants to scream out, call Patrick back and kiss him something _real_. Possibly hold tight and never let go.

Instead, he sits on the ledge.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://pavlust.tumblr.com/)  
> thanks for reading, kudos, comments


End file.
